Kirai
by Essenity
Summary: My hand reaches for the door handle. My other hand stays still. But wanting to move... and reach for my gun.Leon. Story is full of hate and very repetitive. Shounenai. DLeon


**Author's Note- **Sorry, couldn't help it but make a Pet Shop of Horrors fanfic.

**Disclaimer-** I do not own Pet Shop of Horrors.

**Warnings-** Yaoi, slash, boy and boy romance, shounen-ai, whatever you like to call it. Swearing. Oh and don't be fooled by the scroll bar thing, the story isn't that long, just under three thousand words. Each sentence is like a couple of words thats why. And the last line is intentional.

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**Kirai**

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I sit there on my bed, fingering the unlit cigarette. Twirling it between my fingers. My mind is not set on lighting the _damn_ thing.

_'Detective! Smoking is unhealthy for your body! Do you want to shrivel up and die?'_

Your words run through my mind, but I can hardly bring myself to heed them.

Because I'm busy.

Busy thinking of other things.

Busy with the thought of my gun.

Busy with thinking how much I hate you.

Do I really hate you?

I really want you dead.

Why?

I've hated you since that first time I tried to arrest you.

I think.

Nothing seems to work.

I flick the cigarette onto the floor and take out my gun.

I do not know what I am thinking. Perhaps I'm not thinking straight.

Maybe.

I take out all the bullets aside from one then re-pocket the cold metal...

This is the last time I think of you like this.

Denial.

That's what I think I am in.

Just a stage.

Because I know I hate you. I really do. Don't I?

I want to kill you. Because you've out-smarted me at every move. Every _damn_ corner.

I can't _fucking_ take it anymore!

I hate your sly smile, your smirk.

I hate the way you narrow your eyes at me, often filled with amusement and curiosity.

I _despise_ the way you call me 'Detective'.

_Mister Detective._

_Mister Orcot._

_Orcot-san._

_Leon-san._

_Leon._

GODDAMMIT!

_Leon..._

I hear your voice in my head. Even though I'm all the way across the _fucking_ city.

Why can't you just leave me be?

And stop haunting me?

Let me continue with my list of exactly _why_ I hate you so.

I hate the way you dress.

You look like a _freaking_ girl. GIRL. Dammit D! You sick _son-of-a-bitch_.

Why do you dress like that?

Give you a good pair of boobs and you _are_ a girl.

I leave my apartment. I lock my door. Because I'm sane. I don't want anyone in my apartment.

I hate the way you smile.

The smile that makes people think you're all so mysterious and in-control.

Because you are mysterious.

And let's not forget you are always _in-bloody-control_.

I leave for Chinatown. I know you're there.

You can't hide.

And I know you don't run. Come to think of it, you don't hide either.

I hate the way you look at animals.

So much pity.

So much love.

So much happiness.

I hate it that your _fucking_ pet shop of yours is in _Chinatown_.

I hate the way you keep insisting that _bloody_ pet shop has a _goddamn_ motto.

I hate that motto.

Love and dreams...

I hate all those animals in your _freaking_ pet shop.

They are dangerous, man-eating creatures.

I hate dangerous, man-eating creatures.

They do nothing but destruction.

I hate how many people love you.

I hate how many people _you_ brainwash to buy your dangerous, man-eating creatures.

I hate the way you manipulate me.

Yes, every time I see you, I feel like you're trying to manipulate me.

And every _bleeding fucking _time you _goddamn_ succeed!

I hate the way you claim to be able to _talk_ and _understand _animals.

I hate it whenever I get a case and it leads back to you.

But I never get to arrest you.

Because there is absolutely no _fucking_ evidence that you did something _bloody_ wrong.

I hate your charming personality.

The one that makes people feel all soft, and fluffy and _freaking_ comfortable with you.

I hate it when you manage to get so many people to trust you.

Hell, you've got the damn _mayor_ on your _bloody_ side.

I hate that goat-like thing you keep as a pet.

_Fucking piece of shit_ keeps _molesting the hell _out of me.

You _suck_ Count D.

And I hate the way you've managed to get me to trust you.

To care about you.

To think about you in another way.

Other than the strange dude in Chinatown I'm trying to put behind bars.

I hate the way you're always right.

I hate the way I've fallen for your charm.

I hate you.

I _despise _the fact I now know I'm gay.

Or at least bi.

Hell, I detest the idea that I'm in _love_ with someone like _you_.

I hate the way I walk down those stairs every _goddamn_ night after my shift.

I hate the way I spend every_ fucking _minute of my _bloody_ precious spare time down there with you.

I hate the way you trick me into _goat-sitting_.

_Bloody hell_, Count, I hate me.

Because I hate you.

I want you _dead_.

And I hate it that I want you _dead_.

I want you _dead _and_ six-bloody-feet-under_!

And I hate it, because it is something I want.

It's true. I don't want you _dead_.

And I don't want you _six-bloody-feet-under_.

But I do.

And I hate it.

Because you made me confused.

I'm so confused.

Because of you.

And I hate it.

Did I mention I hate the way you narrow your eyes teasingly every time I say something stupid.

Or I appear at your _bloody_ pet shop without a death to link to you?

And I hate that bat-thing of yours.

I hate the way you ask me: _'How are you Detective?'_ in that _fucking _tone you use.

I hate the way I think you are beautiful. Kirei. Or was it 'utsukushii'?

I hate the way I can't remember a single adjective in Japanese.

I hate it that you are Chinese.

I hate the way you jokingly lie. Saying: _'Don't worry Detective. It's a Chinese Martial Arts trick. All Chinese people can do it.'_

Because I know it isn't true.

I hate the sultry way you look. I goddamn hate that voice of yours.

I hate the way you 'furrow' your eyebrows. Your _delicate_ eyebrows.

They look unreal.

And I stare.

I hate the way I stare.

I hate the way you always seem to talk in riddles.

I hate the way I don't understand.

Not easily enough.

I hate your tea.

I hate you cakes.

I hate the way you drink and eat them like there's no tomorrow.

All that sugar's bad for you.

And I hate it that I care.

Care enough to warn you too much sugar is bad.

I hate it.

I hate it when you chuckle.

I hate it when you speak in Chinese when I'm there.

Because I can't understand.

I hate it that I can't understand.

I made my way over to Chinatown as quickly as I could. I say to myself: For Chris. To see Chris.

I hate it that I walk so quickly to your place.

I hate it that I say I'm only going there because Chris is there. Because it isn't true.

I hate it when I think that.

Because there is so much more reason.

And I hate your couch.

And that bird cage you keep behind it.

Oh and that fish tank too.

I hate your thick lashes.

Emphasizing those eyes I lov... _hate_ so much.

I hate it that I slipped up.

I walk slowly down the stairs.

I hate those stairs.

I stop and think, trying to keep my thoughts in line.

I can't seem to.

I hate that.

My hand reaches for the door handle. My other hand stays still. But wanting to move... and reach for my gun.

My gun with one bullet.

My gun.

I hate my gun.

I hate that bullet.

_Fuck_.

I open the door and plaster a fake smile. I hate my smile.

"Detective!" I hear you exclaim.

I see you holding that _damn_ feather duster.

Feather dusters are great to get dust off a certain thing.

But the dust falls onto some place else.

I hate feather dusters.

"What a pleasant surprise." I hear Count D say. Predictable. I sit on the couch. I say a hello. I pet a few animals. I couldn't care less about.

I hate it.

I hear me say something.

I forgot what I said.

I hate that.

You offer tea.

I think.

I already know you would. Will. Whatever.

Then comes the cake.

Then comes Chris.

"Chris!" I hear myself say out loud.

'Big-bro!' I see the words in Chris' eyes.

I hate it.

Because he didn't use his voice to talk to me.

I am not a good brother.

I hate that.

I hate our conversations.

Those I love so dearly.

Excuse me.

I meant hated with a passion.

A strong, burning passion.

A _painful_ passion.

I hate it.

So full of hate.

I'm so full of hate.

When you're so full of love. Dreams... hope. And _crap_.

I detest the way you think everything is a game.

You play by the game.

And you insist you don't know a thing.

I hate that.

I bring the cup of tea you handed me to my lips.

I take a sip of the rich tasting liquid.

I hate it.

I don't need a mirror to see my eyes are full of hate.

I feel it.

I know it.

And I hate it.

I don't need to look at you to see you know something.

I hate it you know everything.

Do you know I want you dead?

Maybe that's too much of a strong word.

I hate it.

You move closer to examine my features.

I hear you ask: _'Detective, is something bothering you?'_

Your hair moves perfectly. As if it's a computer program. Programed to move like it did.

I hate it.

I want to say yes.

I say nothing.

I ignore you.

I hate ignoring you.

And I think I mentioned something about hating your hair.

I hate it.

I hate the way you distract me.

You make me think you're _devious_.

I hate it.

I hate your pale skin.

So delicate.

Like a _fucking China-doll_.

I _hate_ it so much I love it.

I love it so much it isn't funny.

And I hate it.

I finally say something.

I think I said: _'Think so, D? I don't know.'_

I see you frown.

I think.

I can't remember.

All I can think of is the gun in my pocket.

I don't want to think about that.

You know something is wrong.

I can see it.

And I'm not even looking at you.

I notice the animals.

They look human.

No they don't.

Not in that sense.

I hate them.

Did I mention hating the animals before?

Oh well, now you know.

No, you don't.

"I hate the animals." I hear myself say.

I think you nod.

I think you said: _'I know.'_

How the _bleeding fuck _do you know?

I hate it you know everything.

I feel myself stand up.

I don't want to do what I want to do.

I hate you.

"I hate you." I hear myself say. NO! I couldn't have. I don't.

I don't hate you. I love you.

And that's why I hate you.

But you know I love you.

You know I don't mean it.

But your eyes glaze over.

Wet.

Like tears.

But they don't come out.

You nod.

I want to scream

I want to shout.

I want to hug you.

To kiss you.

But I don't.

I hate myself.

I pull out my gun.

I hear Chris yell.

Did he really yell?

No, just my imagination.

He's shaking.

Chris is shaking.

D... Count... _you_ are looking straight into my eyes.

I hate the way you've got that innocent look.

That look of pity as well.

Of love.

Love?

That's funny.

I feel Chris pull on my arm.

My weapon arm.

I want to shake him off.

But I want him to stop me.

That goat-like thing pulls him away. He looks human. Yeah right, whatever.

I must be imagining things right?

I hate it.

"I hate it." I say.

I feel so silly.

Chris is behind Count.

Why?

I don't know.

The animals look at me.

They have that sorry look in their eyes.

That's _bullshit_.

I raise my weapon arm and point my gun at you.

I'm shaking.

_Bloody_ _hell_, I'm shaking so much I can't believe it.

I know you understand.

I don't know how.

I hate that!

"I hate that!"

Why am I saying what I think?

I hate myself.

"I love you."

_What the fuck?_

You nod.

I hate you.

So _damn_ calm.

I raise my arm higher.

Aiming right in the middle of your forehead.

We're at least five feet apart.

I think.

But I know I don't miss.

But I'm shaking so much.

I want to cry.

I don't want to kill you.

But I want you dead.

Right?

I feel my eyes grow sore.

My vision blurs.

Am I crying?

No. My face is dry.

I steady my arm with my other hand.

I hate that hand.

I hate my weapon arm.

I hate myself.

"I hate myself."

You nod.

I hate your nod.

"Leon..." You say.

I love that...

No. I hate it. That's why I love it.

I'm so full of _shit_.

I raise my arm a slight bit. I move it slighty. I look deep into your _damn_ eyes.

I hate them.

You are crying.

The tears are out.

"I'm sorry you feel this way." I hear you say.

I nod.

But you know something else.

"After today, you're dead. I'm gonna forget you. I'm gonna kill you. I'm gonna miss you. But I'm gonna do it. I don't care! I hate this! I can't! I love you! You're dead D, you're dead to me!"

I know you nod.

I hate this.

I'm so confused.

_Fuck _it.

I close my eyes.

Why?

I don't know.

I hate that.

I pull the trigger.

I hate myself.

A soft pop.

I thank the 'gods'.

Soft pop. It was a soft pop.

God, I love that sound.

The gun falls from my hand.

I do not open my eyes.

I feel water... tears... wet liquid flow from my eyes.

I collapse onto the floor.

The pet shop is silent.

_Hell_, I can't hear anything.

I lie there on your _damn_ floor.

Your beautiful carpeted floor.

I hate that floor.

And I lie there and cry.

Why did I pull the trigger?

I'm so grateful.

I hate myself.

I love you Count D.

"I love you Count D."

I hate myself.

I hate my voice.

I want to forget.

Everything.

I'm still crying.

Someone else is crying.

I hear a lot of crying.

I hate crying.

I want to die.

But I do not move, aside from the trembling. From the sobs.

The _goddamn_ tears.

I shiver.

I tremble.

I shake.

I cry.

Such a crybaby.

Then I'm up.

I spring up.

I don't look around.

Tears still stream down my cheeks.

So weak...

Such a crybaby.

I hate that.

Then I run as fast as I can out of your pet shop.

I don't care anymore.

I want to forget.

I hate this.

I want to die.

I think.

I hate this.

And I'm out in the streets.

I swear, this is my last time here in Chinatown.

I'll never come back.

I hear screaming.

I hear shouts.

But I don't register them.

I hear cars.

They beep.

I run.

I run quickly.

I'm a long way from Chinatown in a few minutes.

But I don't stop running.

There are cars.

I run.

I don't look.

I don't give a _shit_.

I run.

I think I stepped onto the road.

It doesn't matter.

I hear a loud honk.

I see bright lights.

I don't care. I don't give a _shit_.

I hear a screech of brakes.

I feel lightheaded.

I feel sore. I think I hit something.

Or rather something hit me.

I'm not sure.

I don't care.

I hate this.

Count...

I hate myself.

D...

I want to die.

I'm tired.

Where am I?

I want to sleep.

I close my eyes.

But I think.

I keep thinking of two things:

To keep running.

To stay as far away from Count D's pet shop as I possibly can.

I don't think I'm running anymore.

I think I'm dead.

I don't care.

I want to forget.

And I hate nighttime in New York. Did you know?

Oh, did I mention I hate your nails?

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**Finite**

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**Author's Note-**As much as I tried to make it sound depressing, and angsty, I still think it is slightly funny in a weird way. Like I said, the last line was intentional.

There might be a sequel on what happened after, should I even have one? (I'll putyou out of your misery now.No one exactly died...)To be honest, I don't really know...

Kirai translates to somewhere along the lines of 'hate' in Japanese.

Kirei translates to somewhere along the lines of 'pretty' in Japanese.

Utsukushii translates to somewhere along the lines of 'beautiful' in Japanese.

Please review.


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